Posted on December 6, 2016
Assorted tales from a stairway covered in shoes
Oh poor neglected blog. Now that I have abandoned you for a better, brighter, more scintillating and stimulating lover (The Spinoff Parents) I barely see you anymore.
I keep trying to come back to you but I don’t have much to say here. I have been noting things down, not particularly interesting, but they’re things I can assure you.
Children trust us utterly and completely. The fact that they accept our unique and (let’s face it) quite ridiculous customs without question is surely an example of this. Eddie’s father came home with brass cups rescued from his mother’s shed. Prizes for running races or maybe playing hockey as a child, I don’t know – I didn’t care enough to ask. The children have taken a shine to the cups. They love the sound the water in the shower makes when it hits the brass or maybe it’s tin. “Usually cups have your name on them” my weary husband says to the boys in a tired attempt to explain…cups. “Why?” Eddie resorts to his usual call. “So you know the cup is yours, and nobody else’s. Because you won it”. “We-as your name then deddy?” Eddie asks. Here – he says: “This cup still has my name on it”. And he reads out his full name from birth, and aged six or maybe nine I don’t know. Eddie is scandalised by the last name he has never heard. “What is that name?” “It’s the name I had before I married Mama. When we got married – her name became my name and our name became your name when we had you.” Eddie stared blankly. “One day…” my husband looks at me with a pained expression and I give him a look like – excuse me I had to explain what a crematorium was, you have to explain marriage. “One day if you want to marry someone..” Eddie cuts him off “I do want to marry someone”. “OK, well when you find someone to marry and if they want to marry you too you’ll chat to them and you’ll either take their last name or they will take your last name or maybe you’ll just pick a new last name together” Eddie stares. “Or actually, maybe you will both keep your last names and not change them at all. You can do that too”. “Why?” the small blonde child asks. “I don’t know, because you want to be a team so you have a team name”. Eddie returns to his game of catching water in his cup.
Finally he says:
“Is this like when you put your person in a box because they dead and don’t move no more and then you cut them up to small things and you turn them in ash so you can carry them in a small an box an you take them on the planes to go in the ground is it like that?”
A conversation at 5.30am after 30 wake-ups that began half an hour after the youngest went to bed at 11.37pm.
Me: This woman will do a consultation for 45 minutes for us for free.
My husband: I thought we weren’t doing sleep consultants.
Me: She’s not a sleep consultant.
My husband: What is she?
Me: I think she’s a counsellor.
My husband: A baby counsellor? What the fuck is she going to talk to him about?
Me: I think, like past life trauma.
My husband: …
Me: Look, I mean…maybe…I-
My husband: He doesn’t have past life trauma and even if he did how is she going to work that out? She’s going to lay him on a couch and he’s going to say cracker over and over again.
Me: Maybe in a past life his parents never gave him crackers.
My Husband: But he gets crackers now. He eats crackers all the time.
Me: Maybe he killed his last parents?
My husband: Then we have to live each day to the fullest until we die and get some sleep.
Today, Eddie said he had a gift for me. Princess drink from a plastic cup.
“Drink it” he said smirking.
I raised the empty cup to my lips and a horrified look flashed across his face.
“I sorry mama!” he yelled and pulled the cup from my hand.
“What?” I asked him.
He hung his head in shame.
“I farted in the cup so you would drink my farts” he whispered.
A website I have never heard of before wants me to write a gift guide for boys.
- To overthrow the Government
- Lace gloves
- Finding Dory slippers in the shape of fish
- A framed photo of 1989 Patrick Swayze
- An end to rigid and pointless gender stereotypes that insist boys and girls must have separate gift guides for Christmas rather than parents choosing gifts based on the personality and interests of their children.
- A fart in a cup
They turned down my gift guide and I am crushed because I needed the exposure.
I never learned Roman Numerals in school.
If I were to really give you a gift list it would be:
For kids (based on my son’s favourites)
- Capsicum Capsi Go (buy it here)
- The Day The Costumes Stuck (buy it here)
- The Genderific Coloring Book (buy it here)
- Kuwai’s Very Shiny Bum (buy it here)
- Some shit Fireman Sam book that I have to read 50,000 times a day
For adults (based on what I think is good)
- How to be Dead in a Year of Snakes – Chris Tse (buy it here)
- Don’t Puke On Your Dad: A Year In The Life Of A New Father – Toby Morris (buy it here)
- Billy Bird – Emma Neale (buy it here)
- My book (pre-order it here)
Books I want:
- Ashleigh Young’s Can you Tolerate This (When I have money I’ll buy it here)
- Sarah Liang’s graphic memoir Mansfield and Me (When I have money I’ll buy it here)
- I’ll Tell You What: Great NZ Non-Fiction (for Naomi Arnold and Tina Makereti especially and i mean it’s edited by Jolisa Gracewood so of course) (It’s here when I can buy it)
- Don’t Dream It’s Over: Reimagining Journalism in Aotearoa New Zealand (Will buy here one day)
I read a blog post that said that babies don’t sleep because of powerlines outside their windows. I bought an axe from The Warehouse today. If I’m electrocuted put “Frisky Wine Mum” on my grave.
If you liked this, follow me on Facebook for more of the same. Also I have a book coming out and you should buy it. If you want me to speak at your event email me at emilywritesnz at gmail dot com. if you want to be a jerk and say mean stuff to me or lecture me on parenting you can email me at go fuck yourself dot com.